Chapter 59
Chapter 59
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: Chapter 5 Inside Out (7)
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***
"Alright, we're here. The group we agreed to trade with should be in front of that small basin over there."
"Ah, I see it too. The sand around there's piled up kinda weird. They must've dug in a bit and covered it with a tarp or something."
The Professor stretched out his stiff body after sitting for so long and checked his gear.
"Hm? You wanna help? No real need for that. It's just a normal trade. It'll go down all gentlemanly and peaceful."
"Normal trade, my ass. Put that bag down before you say another word."
The Professor spoke to Ian, who had piled up the trade goods on one side and was now stuffing his iron suitcase with just as much explosives on the opposite side.
"Hm? Oh, this? It's just like a relaxant or something. Carrying a nice hefty load like this calms the nerves, makes you talk nice, cuts down on pointless posturing. It's a little trade secret of mine."
"Bex, this normal for him?"
At the Professor's question, Bex just shrugged and checked his own gear.
"Alright, time's up. Region [45.150.204], 4 PM sharp, right?"
"But don't trades usually happen far from settlements? That messy pile of junk behind where they're hiding—that's their camp, isn't it?"
"Normally, yeah, but this one's different. They're a decent-sized group. The trading partners are Scavengers in the middle of a turf war, and the other side's watching their every move, so they figured if they traded far from camp, they might lose the goods. That's why they're risking us knowing their base location. Simple terms: too much hassle moving expensive stuff, so let's just do it right outside the house."
Clunk, clunk, grrrk—
Ian loaded the buggy at the back of the vehicle with wooden crates full of trade goods and explosives, slung his bag over his shoulder last, fired up the buggy, and drove straight ahead without hesitation. The Professor sat at the back of the moving vehicle, scanning the surroundings.
It wasn't long before Ian pulled up right in front of where the Scavengers were hiding.
"Ahem! Hey! Spicy Life delivery! Got your order—come out and grab it!"
Rustle, whoosh!
As Ian bellowed, Scavengers hiding under suspiciously obvious sand mounds nearby popped out.
'Hm? Wait, what...'
About twelve Scavengers in sand-colored poncho raincoats. Even accounting for the bulk of goods and the ongoing skirmish, that was way too many for a simple trade.
Ian either hadn't noticed or didn't care, grinning with his white teeth and silver ones flashing in a salesman's smile.
The only one among the bunch in decent clothes instead of rags—a gaunt, dried-out man—spoke up.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No need to be on edge, so put those guns away, boys! We've got our reasons. You know how it is: turns out the deal's a trap, or that ruthless spice merchant rumored to have no blood or tears got hired by those 'Raitly' bastards..."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Making new connections in the Wasteland's as thrilling as it is risky. Good thing our trade partner's not an idiot. See, we've got our stuff all nice and ready like that. Shall we settle up?"
"Hahaha! Sounds good! Don't worry. I'm one of the more reasonable types in the Wasteland."
'...False alarm, then. Where'd that guy go, though? Haven't seen him since earlier.'
Contrary to his worries, the trade seemed to be going smoothly. The Professor eased his finger off the trigger and scanned for the suddenly vanished Bex when something sparkly flashed right in front of his eyes, dazzling him.
'Mirror signal? From who, all of a sudden?'
Finding the source wasn't hard. Over there, a bit away from the trade site in their camp—a spot that kept annoyingly glinting. A short guy waving something around. Definitely Bex.
'This... SOS? Distress signal?'
The Professor snapped into combat mode. Bex, who'd gone scouting the enemy camp alone, was sending a rescue signal. Mirror signals were limited and risky—visible to anyone nearby—so he'd compressed the info as much as possible.
'He's in trouble. Meaning this trade is a trap!'
While the Professor thought that, Ian and the Scavengers kept grinning as they wrapped up the deal.
"Boss! Count's all there! Looks good too!"
At the word from the Scavenger moving crates, Ian peeked inside his pouch and scowled.
"Hey, Scavenger. They say your side's all loaded up. But... looks a bit light on mine, don't it? You think I'm a moron? Or you trying to pass these brass scraps—worse than mutant balls—as gold?"
Clank!
Ian chucked the heavy sack at the Scavenger boss's feet, who let out an unpleasant chuckle.
"Kuhuhuhuhu... Should've just played dumb and taken it, Metal Joe. Cut the bluffing. My boys already confirmed no one's around—just your two idiots showed up. See, I gave you a hint earlier. I'm 'reasonable.' Reasonably speaking, when two morons haul valuable goods right to our front yard, is it right to pay full price... or just kill 'em clean and take it for free?"
The surrounding Scavengers, even the ones hauling crates from the buggy, were smirking. Ian shot a glance at the Professor behind them, a feral grin creeping onto his lips just like theirs.
"Kuhuhu. So, leave the goods, take your brass scraps, and you'll let us live?"
While Ian stalled, the Professor backed up into the path of a crate-hauler and casually stuck out his foot.
Wobble—clatter!
Crash!
"Whoops! Sorry about that!"
"No running! Stay put! Listen to the boss, and we might let you go nice. Damn it, goods spilled."
The Scavenger bent to pick up the grenades from the crate.
Clank.
The gaunt man picked up the sack of brass Ian had thrown.
"See. That was if you'd taken it and left nice. But tossing it in my face like that? No reason to let you live now, right?"
"Huhuhuhu. Guess that's how you wanna play..."
"Damn. Boss'll chew me out if I lose even one..."
The crate-hauling Scavenger scooped up the spilled grenades.
23, 24... Where'd one go?
"Here."
"25. Perfect. Good. Just stay quiet like that, huh? Wait, this..."
A flicker of confusion crossed the Scavenger's face as he took the grenade the Professor kindly handed him. No duds when they checked before, but this one's pin was pulled.
"Uh, uhhh..."
"Kuhuhuhu. Happens again, does it..."
"Don't hate me too much. Blame yourself for wandering the Wasteland so defenseless."
"Defenseless? We'll see..."
Ian pulled a cigarette from his front pocket, lit it, then lightning-fast shoved aside the gun barrel aimed at him and yanked his favorite pistol from behind his back, jamming it into the Scavenger's smirking mouth. The solid steel barrel shattered the Scavenger's yellowed teeth and pressed down his throat.
"Gack! Guhuk! Aggggh!!"
"Which side's defenseless? You'll see. Negotiations failed. Morons."
BOOM!
BANG!
An explosion and gunfire rang out together, filling the quiet Wasteland with the clamor of battle in an instant.
***
BANG!
With the final shot, the Professor shook out his hand in disgust and holstered his gun.
"There. Happy now? You got to shoot, so shut up already!"
[Ooooooh! Awesome! Skin-bag! Lend me your body for 10 minutes! I won't do anything else—just let me touch that 'gun' thing! Wanna see it, feel it, lick it!]
"Get lost, you Metal Joe wannabe."
The Professor roughly wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and looked around.
The fight hadn't lasted long. Outnumbered, no cover, surrounded. Only way to turn it was a surprise chaos play.
'Close call.'
After the grenade he tossed to that dumb Scavenger blew, before their smirks turned to panic, the Professor had drawn his shotgun and blasted two away.
Broke one's arm, stabbed a knife in his side, used him as a shield to snipe the scrap gun guy.
Right before the last one could aim and fire, low tackle to drop him, then to calm Hyde—who'd been partying in his head since the blast—let the guy's left hand hold the AK he'd grabbed and fire a single round.
Wiping his face, the Professor realized it wasn't just enemy blood; a bullet had grazed his temple, tearing a long gash that bled. Adrenaline had numbed the pain.
"What, Professor? You hit?"
He was wrapping a bandage from his pocket around his head when a shadow fell over him—Ian walking up.
"Grazed me. Some of those Scavengers were quick on the draw. Nearly bought it."
"Huhuhuhu. Happens daily in this line of work. Back in 43, a dozen dead Scavenger packs like this cut down the bold ones, but in 45? Guess they forgot. Thought two heads would scare 'em less than solo, though."
"Two? Speaking of, Bex vanished and headed back there—pre-planned?"
Drag, drag—
Thud!
"These types always got reserves guarding the main base. Open ground like this, sniping from range? We'd lose hard with fewer numbers. So he went to cut 'em off. They were yapping about killing you all, so signal sent."
Bex, in tattered fatigues stuffed with their guns and ammo, plopped down next to the Professor and chugged from his canteen.
"Ah, gimme some water."
"Hm? Hapbun, no water on you?"
"Mine’s gone."
Bex handed over the canteen wordlessly. The Professor dumped it straight over his head. The cool droplets soothing his battle-heated scalp felt amazing.
"Ugh. Getting wet out here just sticks all the dust to you. Annoying."
"Sorry. Couldn't help it."
After a short break, the three scoured the battlefield and camp, looting usable stuff from Scavenger corpses and piling it into the buggy's back. Mostly junk pipe shotguns, but the camp had a decent scrap pile—Ian drove the truck over and loaded for a while.
"Not super pricey stuff, but still a big win today!"
"No wonder you make bank so sketchily..."
Truth was, to the Professor, Ian didn't seem like a huge moneymaker. Tossing pricey explosives like candy, impulse-buying whatever caught his eye without a care for cost—outgo always outpaced income.
'He did say "[this time too] negotiations failed." Margins over 100% on these repeat deals? Gotta make money that way.'
Ian had a rep, but he was just a solo seller. Real money and power went to Dome's Life and Murder Inc. for orders, not guys like him.
"You aim for this?"
"Hm? Aim for what?"
"Decent quality but sloppy deals. Perfect for broke randos hunting weapons. Goes well? Great. Backstab like this? Handle it and score the scraps anyway."
Ian's face turned deadly serious at the Professor's words.
"Hey, Professor. My business looks sloppy?"
"Isn't it? No catalog for your wares. Ads on the community are just 'various weapons for sale.'"
"That's how underground deals work—word of mouth's the style! And who's gonna know guns better than me in the Wasteland? Customer says 'party needs something bold and heavy,' I hook 'em up. Service, see?"
"Not even a corner store runs that loose, man..."
"But I make good money?"
"That's not selling goods for profit. That's baiting idiots with 'em."
"It's fine, Hapbun. Blew my mind at first, but you get used to it. Keh!"
"Hey, Bex. Hole in your arm."
"Ugh! Fixed it at the clinic today, and now this!"
"Bandage it rough for now. Our place ain't far—proper fix there."
"Already?"
"Yeah. Mine's on the outskirts of 47."
Thud, smack!
They reloaded the original cargo, crammed in the extra scrap, and climbed back into the battered truck.
[Living with these guys? Never a dull moment!]
'Dull? More like a hassle headache.'
Soon, familiar scenery whipped past the window. The Professor sighed.
"Way down~ we go~ ho- ho- ho- ho~"
"Snore—hack! Cough! Hack! Kgh, khkh...... Snore—"
It was starting to sink in. Living with these rowdy bastards.
***